Fifty Shades of February

With the recent release of Fifty Shades of Grey, it made me remember my very first blog post three years ago where I ranted about February Movies. Thank you to the five people that read it, and thank you to the 60 000 people that read this blog in 2014. I appreciate anyone who visits my tiny underground internet labyrinth.

When I re-read my February Movie post I thought 1.) Somewhat accurate and 2.) Wow that was jaded.

That was the old me. The new me is more forgiving, for two reasons:

1.) As an adult I simply have less energy to be angry about anything that doesn’t directly inconvenience me. Porn, euthanasia, Katy Perry, suburbia, the patriarchy embedded in religion…my sentiment towards these issues borders on impartial. Sure I’m more educated about global issues, but this is merely an extension of being an informed adult. As long as my train leaves on time for work, I’m fine with Kris Jenner manipulating the cultural architecture of celebrity. The old me would have flipped a table at the mere thought of Fifty Shades of Grey. The new me would just dread having to pick up the table. That is growth.

image2.) My previous anger towards uncreative romantic movies was partially due to my own failings (Nancy Drew ova hare!). If a guy didn’t text me back, this was Hollywood’s fault. Formulaic scripts with rainstorms and weddings were leaving chasms in my real life causing insecurities to fester. Like many young women I was emotional about the grave burden of risk inherent in romantic relationships; that one day I could be impregnated and abandoned. Creating stability is hellaciously difficult in your early twenties, especially with young men involved. This all left me a little jaded.

I frequent online support forums for abandonment. I don’t know why, perhaps listening to stories of those experiencing my universal fear is a coping mechanism, but that’s not a satisfying answer. Intellectual justifications rarely account for what people do on their free time. Even the most goal oriented among us lack cerebral accountability for their Saturdays. We’re all just emotive animalistic beings during non working hours.

Through my perusing of support forums I realised something obvious but not often discussed: there is no one lonelier than a middle aged man who loses his family. For whatever reason, mom and the kids left, and there’s little chance of them coming back. Single white older men are the most likely demographic to kill themselves, and prior to visiting these support forums I predominantly viewed them as the arbiters of some sort of amorphous anti feminist oppressive status quo. Everyone’s vulnerable, and we’re all just trying to survive. Yes this is depressing. Surely there was a better way for me to articulate my maturity than noting my evolved sympathy for men. But understanding that everyone is powerless when it comes to love is the most romantic revelation one can have. There’s never a need to feel hopeless, because in a sense, we all are.

Happy Valentines Day

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